There's a new oneshot that's set kind of in the Perks verse if you want to read it. It's called Never An Option...

We go back to Dreamland in this chapter! Actually, this chapter has a lot of everyone in it… so, please pay attention to line breaks, for they will signal POV changes as well as scene changes as well as time changes, per usual.

Thanks for all of your lovely reviews! You all are amazing.

The Perks of Being a Telepath

Chapter 33: An Act of War

Charles was missing.

Erik wasn't sure what happened—one second, he was trying to help his friend up the steps and into the dream-version of the Westchester mansion, the next, Charles was gone and Erik was somewhere entirely different.

He didn't recognize it, at first. It had been so long since he had ever been there that he, in all honesty, had forgotten about its existence.

It was his old home in Poland, from back before the war, before his mutation, before all of it.

There was something different about the small, modest building. Something off. It wasn't the cracked and peeling paint on the shutters or the window broken by a baseball. It wasn't even the general lack of homely feel—those had all been there before.

Erik took a step forward, surprised at how difficult it was for him to approach the one place as a child he had ever felt safe. Memories he didn't even know he still had pooled in the forefront of his mind as he approached the front door. Memories from his childhood, happy and innocent.

A lone tear escaped from the confines of his eyes before Erik could stop it. He wiped it away vigorously, feeling a sense of embarrassment. He was supposed to be looking for Charles, not getting lost in old memories that were tainted by pain and heartache.

He had just reached the front door when an overpowering metallic tang hit him. Blood. Erik would recognize that stench anywhere.

Slowly, Erik reached for the front door knob, but the door opened on its own accord. The scent of blood grew stronger as he cautiously stepped through the front door.

Horror crashed over him as he entered the house. The walls of his childhood home were painted with blood. Two bodies were on the floor.

Erik took a couple of shaking steps forward and crouched down beside the bodies. He was appalled to find one was his mother.

The other was Charles'.

No sooner had the shock of his friend's death registered, the dead Charles opened his eyes.

"You did this. You killed me."

A hand brushed against Erik's shoulder as he fell backward. Alarmed, Erik spun around, the scene around him changing abruptly. The grotesque scene of Charles and his mother's bodies was gone, replaced by the Westchester mansion.

Charles stood over him, concern showing in his eyes.

"Are you all right, my friend?"

Erik closed his eyes, only to open them a heartbeat later when the nightmarish image floated through his mind.

"Did you see that?"

His voice was scarcely recognizable in the harsh growl that came out.

Charles nodded, half-sitting, half-collapsing beside Erik.

"I'm sorry, Erik."

"What was that, Charles?"

The telepath was silent for a moment, staring out at the satellite dish in the distance. His face was lined with sadness and guilt.

"Onslaught. He's torturing you, trying to break you."

Erik swallowed.

"Your darker half is a son of a bitch."

Charles let out a sad laugh.

"Yes. And for that, I am truly sorry. You've had some true horrors in your past and it's not fair for you to have to relive them."

Erik shook his head.

"If that's the worst he can do to me, then he's going to have a hard time breaking me."

His voice held a confidence he didn't feel. It was obvious by the look on Charles' face that the telepath didn't believe it either.

"Erik…"

"I'll be fine, Charles."

Charles sighed and placed a gentle, yet surprisingly steady hand on Erik's shoulder, gripping it tightly.

"I think, for now, it's best if we don't sleep and don't let our guard down. Onslaught's only dangerous if he can get inside our minds."

It was a bad plan. Though Erik didn't know much about the dreamland they were in, he highly doubted they would be able to go for very long without sleeping. And with Onslaught controlling everything they saw and did, then it would be practically impossible not to do something he wanted.

Though, it was better then nothing, which was what Erik had.

Still, he couldn't quite shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen.

The pain vanished from Erik's mind as though it had never been there in the first place. In its stead was a cacophony of terrified screams and yelling.

He opened his eyes, horrified to find Charles sprawled on the hot cement, unconscious, with blood pouring out of his nose. A gun lay a few inches away from his right hand.

Emma Frost was dead, a bullet wound in the middle of her forehead.

Before Erik was ever fully conscious of his decision to move, he was beside Charles, desperately checking for a pulse. Time seemed to be moving backward and terror threatened to consume him at the thought that the telepath might be dead, killed trying to protect Erik.

"Don't do this, Charles. Don't you dare let her win."

Erik's voice was harsh and frantic, words falling so quickly out of his mouth that he was barely aware of what he was saying and betraying every last one of his emotions. He nearly collapsed in relief when his fingers found the weak, unsteady pulse in Charles' wrist. It was barely noticeable, but it was there, and for now, that was enough for Erik.

"Stay with me. Don't give up now."

It took Erik a few minutes to realize the CIA agents had completely disappeared. Upon a wider sweep of the area, he learned why.

Fifty yards away, the president of the United States was dead, shot in the head.

Raven opened her eyes, knowing instantly that something was wrong.

Sean was standing over her, blood seeping out of his nose. He looked both frightened and concerned.

"Are you all right?"

Raven opened her mouth to reply that she was fine, only to be brought up short by a searing pain in her head.

Her hand went to her head and she was alarmed to find her temple bleeding.

"What happened?"

Sean shook his head and looked grim.

"Charles."

Raven closed her eyes, wondering how on earth she was supposed to explain what had happened to her brother and Sean's idol when she barely understood it herself.

"It wasn't him."

Her words brought a look of doubt to Sean's face.

"Really? Because it certainly looked a lot like him. Sounded a lot like him, too."

"I mean it was him physically, but not mentally."

Sean just stared at her confusion. Clearly, Raven wasn't doing a decent job of explaining it.

She decided that a change in subject was in order.

"What happened?"

Sean shook his head.

"I'm not really sure. You were in here with Charles one moment, and then the next, he's walking out of the hospital room. Walking, Raven. I don't know how it happened. He sees me watching him and somehow throws me against the wall and disappears. I came in here and you were unconscious."

Raven bit her lip, struggling not to break down and cry like a little school girl. She needed to be stronger than that, if she stood any chance of getting her brother back.

"Have you called Hank?"

She was surprised at how even her voice was.

There was a moment's hesitation before Sean nodded, looking equal parts guilty and scared.

"He didn't answer."

Which could only mean one thing—Onslaught had gotten to him.

Screams. Crying. Blinding sunlight. Intense heat, rising from the rock hard ground. Unbearable agony, radiating from his head and back.

Someone was calling his name, pleading for a response. The sound of it was fading in and out, like an out of tune radio.

"Charles! Come on, Charles, don't do this! God damn it, Charles, open your eyes!"

The demand was almost impossible—someone had attached ten pound lead weights to his eyes—but somehow, Charles managed to crack one eye open.

Emma was on the ground a few feet away, blood pooling around her, staining her pristine white clothing. She was dead, killed by the gun Charles had fired.

The crowd around him was screaming in horror, but their attention was focused elsewhere.

Crouched over him in a protective manner, was…

"Erik?"

Good god, was that his voice that came out as a scratchy whisper?

Erik breathed a heavy sigh of relief, looking far too alarmed for Charles' comfort.

"Thank God. I thought you were dead."

Charles had too.

"I'm okay."

It was a lie.

Before Erik had the chance to call him on it, the metal bender was suddenly pulled upward and back by two policemen. Charles barely had the chance to comprehend what was going on before he was subjected to the same rough treatment.

Pain exploded in Charles' body and a whimper passed his lips before he could contain it.

Nearby, Erik was struggling to get away from his captors, but the ordeal with Emma had left him too shaken to fight back properly.

Distantly, Charles knew he should do something, say something, to show that he was all right. But the words died on his lips as a fifth policeman walked over to them.

"You both are under arrest for the assassination of the President of the United States and a CIA agent. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in court of law…"

Horror crashed over Charles as he locked eyes with Erik, reading his own fears written plainly in the other man's gaze. They were the two most well-known mutants in the country because of what happened in Cuba. The wounds were still fresh in many people's minds, even despite the year that had passed since then.

Even though Charles had killed Emma, not the President, the assassination of wouldn't be seen as a coincidence. It would be seen as an act of war.